Christmas Traditions
by Siberianchan
Summary: Sherlock is less than pleased with what Christmas brings into 221B.


Titel: Christmas Traditions

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Author: Siberianchan

Comment: Dear Suz asked for a fanfiction as a Christmas present. Well, I happily oblieged and this is what she got out of it.

Disclaimer: As usual. "Sherlock" belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman (At least anything Watson-related.) I'm just here having fun and honing my writing skills.

**Christmas Traditions**

It was rare, that Sherlock Holmes was at a loss for words and when it happened it rarely ever was pretty.

However, there actually were quite a few things that could set him off. It just happened that these things rarely ever occurred. There was a million-to-one chance, so to speak, that an intelligent, bold, physically attractive woman would stand in front of him, stark naked, happily smiling and calling him – more or less – sexy.

It also was extremely uncommon that there was a case with so many loops and loose ends it was no fun anymore. Loose ends and loops were all fine and made a case interesting, but when there were so many one could not even see the case anymore it grew a tad bit frustrating.

Anyways, those were the two things that could set Sherlock speechless, "flabbergasted" was the expression John had used. Still, it was not like these were everyday events, not for the majority of the world population and most definitely not for him. So, there was nothing to worry about.

_This_ however was different. Definitely. There was a very distinctive gap between a naked woman complimenting – and even more important, for a while outwitting – him and... well... _this_.

"What's the matter?" John actually had the nerve to sound innocent, as if he'd simply hidden Skull once again. Which in and on itself was already an act heinous beyond words but Sherlock had gotten used to it and took it as a minor practice for his otherwise sometimes neglected skills of looking, not for evidence but for a specific hidden item. Also he suspected John to act out of jealousy, since Sherlock still used Skull as a conversation partner once in a while. Not that he understood why his conversation with an inanimate object – that admittedly had older and longer tanding rights than John – would inspire jealousy, but then again, he had observed that people could get rather emotional – and thus jealous – when it came to position they considered special or even a privilege. And everyone knew at first glance that it was a _very_ special position, being considered a valuable conversation partner by Sherlock Holmes.

Yes, John hiding Skull was probably just a sign of jealousy and thus rather amusing, if anything by now. Sherlock could deal with that.

However, _this_ was really pushing it.

"John, what is the meaning of-" Again at a loss for words he just gestured to the green monstrosity that stood right there in their living room, effectively blocking the kitchen entrance.

An odour of wood and fresh resin hung in the air. Sherlock blew his nostrils.

"It's a tree Sherlock. Obvious, isn't it?"

"What – pray tell – does this tree in our flat?"

John gave him a slightly exasperated eye roll, one Sherlock recognised as the one he procured whenever John failed to see a point that was plain as daylight to Sherlock.

"It's Christmas. This is a Christmas Tree. I know Mycroft is familiar with the custom, so don't you tell me you don't know about it."

"Of course I know about it", Sherlock scoffed, "So, what is it doing in our flat?"

"As I said, it's a Christmas tree."

"I heard you the first time. So? I never understood what trees had to do with a holiday that marks the alleged birthday of the alleged founder of a religion. And before you ask, yes. I attended Bible Class as a child. No references to trees, nowhere." He folded his arms before his chest. "So, where is the logic to this custom, for I do not see it. It should not be existing, if you ask me. And _But Sherlock, everyone does it _is no valid reason to participate in that nonsense."

John sighed. His eyes wandered to the tree and he almost regretted having put it where it stood now. He could have done with a nice, strong cup of tea.

"So, why do you think people actually do all this?", he asked falling into his chair. Carrying that monstrosity of a tree upstairs had been more exhausting than he cared to admit. "I mean the tree, the lights, this gift thing we have going on on Christmas."

"How would I know." Sherlock let himself fall onto the sofa. "It is not like I had a Father Christmas related case, right?"

"Not as far as I know, no." John shrugged. "Care to know? Just to get why people do what they do... no need to keep it in mind afterwards."

"Then why telling me in the first place?"

Again John shrugged. "I thought you might be interested what a tree does in our flat."

Sherlock considered it for a moment and finally he sighed. "Fine. Go on." After all, understanding stuff was always good. And if it was really of no further interest, well, John was right. He could always delete it.

John grinned. "So, that whole tree business started way before Christianity arrived here, you know. Also, astronomers are pretty sure Jesus was born in summer."

"So, why wont people celebrate it in summer? And why are they putting down trees – which is murder if you keep in mind that plants are living beings – for an actually non-Christian custom?"

John had to supress a light smirk. Apparently Sherlock's main beef with Christmas Trees was that they were killed, so to speak, in a rather irrational manner.

"It was a good date, I guess", he remarked. "I mean, pagan folk have always celebrated the winter solstice and in Rome there was the cult of Mithras that had a holiday around the same time. By keeping the holidays mostly intact it was easier to get and then keep new followers."

Sherlock snorted. "What else to expect."

"From those pagan traditions they got the schtick with lighting candles and decorating their houses with branches of evergreens – and if you gonna ask why they'd do that I really got to smack you."

It was too tempting a threat for Sherlock to let slide. "Why?"

John in answer grabbed the TV magazine from the table, rolled it, got up, went to the sofa and smacked Sherlock over the head.

"Ow!"

"Told you so." John sat down again. "Just in case you really don't know, people tried to remind themselves that spring would come soon for sure. Or something along the lines. Maybe they tried to lure their summer deities back or whatever. Thing is, when the Christians came the greenstuff remained."

"And?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" John sighed. "Or was my explanation so awful?"

"You did not explain how it went from branches of evergreens to an almost whole tree. Sans the roots.

John laughed softly. At times Sherlock was almost adorably childish. "Well, someday some German dude got the idea that a tree would be better than just a few brances and the idea stuck with his fellows."

Once again Sherlock snorted. "Ridiculous."

"In our eyes a lot of things are ridiculous."

"Because they _are_!" Sherlock waved his hands. "What is it with this Christmas anyways? You don't even attend service on Sundays! Why..." He let his hands fall. "It doesn't make sense. And this whole gift-giving thing neither."

John shrugged. "Doesn't have to."

"Yes, it _does_!"

"No. I mean, erm... do you like getting presents?"

"Never got many. And those were always boring and uninteresting and not at all what I would have liked."

Whatever Sherlock liked. John sighed. "Well, it's the idea and the intent that matter", he tried with a smile. "Of course it still would be nice if people with less clue towards your preferences would simply ask you for one or two ideas what to get you."

Suddenly Sherlock sat up straight. "You did not ask me."

"I think I have a good idea about you. And I asked Mrs. Hudson." _And Mycroft_, he added mentally but that was not something he would have told Sherlock.

"So I do get something from you? I know Mrs. Hudson has been knitting another pair of socks for me. She does this every year."

So that was the mysterious origin of the woolen, bright blue socks Sherlock tended to wear at home.

John smiled. "Yes, you get something."

"And what?"

"Not telling. You'll see." John wished he had a camera to keep Sherlocks pouty face for future generations as he probably tried figuring out what John would present him with.

"Anyways, you understand the tree thing?"

"Yes. Still ridiculous, though. You know pretty much about it, how come?"

John shrugged, slowly getting up. "Wikipedia. Had an idea you'd be throwing a tantrum."

"I do not-"

"We also agree gifts are good?" He slowly moved towards the stairway

"Fine."

"Good. Figures we also keep up the tradition of social gathering, right?"

"Ri- wait, what?"

"Would you mind cleaning up a little? Mrs. Hudson will be up here in a few minutes, so we can trim the tree. The others will be here in an hour or so."

"Others... which others, who?!"

"Oh, nothing big, really." John had reached the stairway and took the first step up. "Just Janette, you know. Behave yourself, ok? And Mrs. Hudson. And then Lestrade and Molly."

And then he dashed upstairs and locked the door to his bedroom.

Until Mrs. Hudson was here to keep the bloodbath at a minimum he really was not up to testing the strength of Sherlock's holiday spirit.


End file.
